


Attention

by codenamecynic



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Dominance, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Submission, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 05:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20130412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codenamecynic/pseuds/codenamecynic
Summary: Between navigating relationships with siblings he hasn't seen in years and figuring out whether there's any spark left with an old flame, Harper finds himself unexpectedly in a compromising situation with Gerald, the odd but plucky footman who somehow has become a confidante, and who wants nothing more than toserve.





	Attention

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dakoyone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dakoyone/gifts), [Fionavar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fionavar/gifts), [bettydice (BettyKnight)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BettyKnight/gifts), [vhaerauning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vhaerauning/gifts).

> For anyone not my party members who happens to stumble across this fic because of the tags (lol hi), our game takes place in a bastardized Faerun that exists between editions, and this story references characters from other posted fics. Briefly:
> 
> Katy/Ceitidh: Wild mage sorceress and Harper's best friend/semi-adopted daughter with a flair for terrible goth fashion and large explosions. ([The Rules](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19456000))
> 
> Cort: Harper's former best friend and love of his life, on-again, off-again, and currently maybe-again, which is causing Harper a large amount of angst and doubt. ([Swordmaster's Son](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15688893/chapters/36454428))
> 
> Vigo: Harper's elven lover in Silverymoon who dispenses wisdom, affection, and home-cooked meals ([Wherever You Go](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16612964))
> 
> Gerald: A footman in Harper's childhood home, hired by his brother Jorran. Cheerful, roguish and a dedicated advertiser of his sister Geraldine's (yes, seriously) bespoke wigs, Gerald has proven to be both remarkably unsqueamish and very obviously interested in Harper.

It all starts because he isn't paying attention. 

That is how this sort of thing always goes, after all. His attention gets divided, his tongue slips, tone dips, mouth moves in that way it does when he lets his body call the shots, and all of a sudden he finds himself on the receiving end of looks that could steam the ink off a page, wondering what it is he might have promised.

He lets it persist because he isn't actually sure it’s a problem. Harper knows the appeal in his looks, in his manner, knows he flirts; knows, in a general sort of way, what other people really want from him. None of that is a surprise. It's not like he isn't used to it.

Gerald, to an extent, isn't a surprise either. He's odd, definitely. Funny, a bit obsequious, but not terribly remarkable. The most notable thing about him is the wig, but when one travels with Katy one sort of... gets used to the odd fashion foible. 

Either way, it isn't something that means all that much on its own. He registers Gerald's interest in him the same way he registers a good deal on eggs in the marketplace and, perhaps foolishly, acts on it in much the same manner. Accepts it. Maybe encourages it, just because the pieces are there to move and why not. Nothing will come of it. He's busy, _ otherwise engaged. _

That's how he gets here, to this moment, without really realizing what he's set into motion. Not that he's certain he can blame it entirely on his own distraction, but as his consciousness coalesces suddenly back into his body, he finds himself standing in a locked room with Gerald crouched at his feet, attempting to persuade Harper to allow him to shine his shoes. 

At least that's what Harper thinks is happening, it's hard to tell, but he can feel the heat of Gerald's fingers through the fabric of his pants, lingering on his calf above his boot, and the things that do start to make sense are alarming. The tilt of Gerald’s head, down but up, gazing at Harper through his lashes with his head still submissively bowed. The faint flush of pink across the top of his cheeks. The real eagerness hidden behind the double entendres, easy enough to pass off as a joke should it prove unwelcome.

It’s not a crush, nothing so sentimental as that he thinks, but it’s definitely not _ nothing_. The way his eyes - blue, _ the wrong shade _ \- go dark with pupils wide when Harper cants his head to one side and really _ looks _ at him. The way the tip of his tongue darts out to moisten the center of his lower lip, throat working as he swallows, obscene even in the innocent movement.

It has an effect. It shouldn’t but it does, and before he has time to question his actions, his motives, he reaches out to set a heavy hand on Gerald’s shoulder and _ pushes_.

Surrender is immediate, no resistance proffered as Gerald slides from a crouch to his knees, his eyes on Harper like he isn’t quite sure this is really happening. They search his face, waiting, and shutter closed when Harper reaches to roughly grasp his chin, pulling his head up, stretching his body into a position just the right height to-

“Your lordship-” Gerald breathes, scarcely more than a whisper in the still room, but the title is enough to break the moment’s fragile spell. He’s _ hard _ for fuck’s sake, his cock ready to hand him a multitude of terrible ideas with no hesitation whatsoever, no consideration for the disparity in rank between them (Gerald is his _ employee_, this might be _wrong),_ the difficulty of his position (he has things to _ do _ that aren’t _ this),_ the dubious nature of his genuine desire (does he _ want _ or is he _ bored),_ and what about Cort _(Cort, Cort, Cort) -_

It’s too much. And not well done either, because it’s _ definitely _ his fault now, unable to keep from snatching at dangling threads like a cat with a tattered piece of ribbon. He’s not even sure what to do about it, certain only that, with the limited flow of blood to his brain, letting his dick make decisions for the rest of him is a _ bad idea_. He doesn’t need to unlace his breeches and let Gerald suck his cock, he needs-

He needs air.

Harper doesn’t know exactly how he manages to get outside, if he’s walked there, or run, or simply levitated out a window, but he’s out of breath and his cock is still hard, throbbing persistently where it presses against the front of his trousers, uncomfortable and cramped. He curses himself, curses it, and paces back and forth in front of the stables until he feels rather more in control. Until the feeling starts to come back into his limbs and the blood stops rushing in his ears and his libido calms down to the point that he can make an honest go at a rational thought. 

As usual, that turns all too easily into a myriad of recriminations, and he digs the heels of his palms hard into his eyes with a groan, embarrassed and annoyed and completely unsurprised by himself. He _ left. _ What an asshole.

Well, at least that is probably the end of that. He doubts Gerald is the sort to shout, too infinitely polite and cognizant of place to throw Harper’s gold back in his face, so that’s something. Still, it might make him feel a bit better if he would, punished duly for his callous behavior.

He walks around the garden for a while longer, wallowing in guilt, turning his mind toward cleaning up this unfortunate mess he’s made. Maybe he can apologize. Clear the air. Promise that he’ll never do it again. Be a true and proper whatever he’s supposed to be, safe inside the lines.

By the time he finally trudges back inside it’s getting dark, the lavender of twilight fading rapidly into the indigo of a cloudless night. They are only now beginning to light the lanterns in the house, casting circles of ruddy gold on the floor and walls, his shadow long before and behind him. It makes him tired, like it’s clawing into the floor to try to hold him in place.

Maybe he just needs to sleep.

Mercifully, no one accosts him as he winds his way through the hallways to his room. Everyone else is busy doing something; it’s just him, on his own, doing as poorly with it as he always does.

He’s still not paying attention.

The brand new door clicks softly shut behind him when he passes through, a quiet metallic slide as he turns over the bolt in the lock. His room is still blissfully dark, cool with the windows and curtains thrown wide open, enough light from the sky beyond to cast shadows across the floor. Enough to quickly reveal that he is not alone.

Gerald is still kneeling on the floor, right where Harper left him. 

It’s been at least two hours. The thought makes Harper’s brain stutter.

He’s rearranged himself only slightly, settled back on his heels rather than up on the points of his knees as he had been with Harper’s hand beneath his chin. His hands are palm down atop his thighs, back a little less than straight, as though in anticipation of holding this position for an indefinite amount of time.

He doesn’t turn his head to look as Harper draws closer on silent feet, doesn’t speak, though Harper can see the way his hands flex, the tips of long fingers pressing into his thighs. It strikes him as an anxious movement; Gerald is _ nervous_.

Well, so he should be. This is a gambit and Harper hasn’t decided whether or not it’s going to pay off. The unquestionable show of submission does something unexpected to his body, heat pooling low in his belly at the flash of pale skin at the nape of Gerald’s neck where he bows his head, a thin line exposed between the top of his livery and the curl of that ridiculous wig. It makes him want to _ do _ things; to touch, take, be greedy, demanding, unreasonable.

He’s going to do _ something_, he’s an idiot and that much is already a foregone conclusion. He’s just not sure what.

“Take it off.” 

The command comes out of nowhere, startling both of them when the sound of Harper’s voice severs the silent tension of the moment. It makes Gerald jump, the movement of his shoulders not quite a flinch. Not afraid, just surprised. He doesn’t move though, hesitating as Harper paces around his form, a little more than an arm’s length away.

“The wig,” Harper clarifies, circling back to prop his lanky body against the desk. “Take it off. We’re going to have a discussion, you and I.”

That makes Gerald’s throat move, adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows like his mouth is dry. For a moment Harper thinks he’ll balk, lose his nerve, but eventually, after an unquantifiably long moment, he reaches up and pulls the wig away.

He looks instantaneously younger, the longish strands of his dark hair uncurling over his shoulders when the skullcap comes free, ink-dark and shiny where the moonlight cuts across the floor. Younger, and vulnerable, and that’s the point; Harper doesn’t have the wherewithal for disguises, too raw and lost and tired to summon up a proper persona for himself to match. All he’s got to give in this moment is himself, and while that’s probably wrong too, he’ll wait for Gerald to tell him.

He stops, tries to figure out how to proceed. Gerald is staring fixedly at a point in the middle distance between them, resolutely not making eye contact and still not retreating though Harper can see when his breathing quickens, shoulders and chest tight where tries to conceal it.

“Do your legs hurt?”

That’s not what he’s expecting, clearly; Gerald shifts in surprise and almost, _ almost_, looks up at him.

“A bit, your lordship.”

“Do you want to get up?”

“...no, your lordship.”

Alright, fair enough.

“When I left, why did you stay?”

It’s clearly not an easy question to answer, though Gerald certainly should have seen it coming. Harper can see his eyes moving, flicking from side to side as though reading something across the invisible ether. Gerald bites down on the corner of his lip, the silence drawing out long and thin between them.

Harper crosses his arms. “Answer me, or you can get out right now and never come back.”

Whether at the words or his tone, Gerald shudders, shoulders quivering and hands going tense where they sit on his thighs.

“I wanted to. I thought, well, what could it hurt? I like your lordship’s company, and if I’d already stuffed it up by being- well. Not much to lose, then, I figured.”

He does look up at him then, meeting Harper’s gaze; his eyes are rueful but honest, crinkling at the corners as his mouth turns up into a lopsided grin. It’s an infectious expression, cheeky and disarming, and Harper rubs a hand across the stubble around his mouth and chin rather than smile back, leery of relenting too soon.

“And what do you want from me, exactly?”

“Begging your lordship’s pardon, I’m not really in a position to make demands-”

“Don’t give me that horse shit, you’ve been practically begging me to fuck you since we met.”

He can’t tell if Gerald has the good grace to blush at that in the blue shadows of the half-dark, but a pained expression flits across his face, taking his gaze with it and casting it off to one side.

“Milord-”

“Did I say you could look away?” He keeps his voice soft, mild, but it seems to take very little. Just a small push, a hint of a reprimand, and Gerald's gaze is obediently returned to his. “There’s a good boy.”

Gerald doesn’t preen, stops just short of moving, but a strange expression flickers over his features; something not quite satisfaction, more like relief.

“Now, you were saying?”

“I… don’t know, your lordship. When you first asked me to help you keep an eye on things, I thought- well, I don’t always think things through.”

Harper laughs, sighs. _ Relatable. _“So it’s just a sex thing.”

Gerald blinks. “Your lordship is rather funny, too-”

“Oh please.” Harper dismisses that with a wave of his hand, confident enough now to uncurl from his position. He taps his fingers thoughtfully against the desk before taking a step closer, crouching down to put himself and Gerald on the same level. “I don’t require flattery - we can leave it as ‘just a sex thing’.”

Gerald’s mouth quirks faintly into a smile. “As your lordship says.”

“Good, well that’s decided. Let’s get you up.”

“Milord-”

“Quiet. Only fools keep themselves kneeling for hours on a bare floor. Are you a fool?”

“...apparently yes, milord.”

“Then I suppose we’ll have to educate you.”

Again he finds Gerald gaping at him, blue eyes round for a moment in something like wonder before they narrow in discomfort. Both his knees click in protest when Harper helps him up, gripping his upper arms until he can be sure that Gerald’s legs will hold him. Gerald feels almost feverish in his hands, heat burning through the thick fabric of his shirt, and when he stands there’s no hiding the telltale imprint of a hard cock tenting the front of his trousers. It makes Harper throb sympathetically.

“When did that happen?”

“A second before you… left, milord.”

“And the whole time, you-?”

Gerald does blush now; he can see it in his expression more than in the color of his cheeks. “...I don’t mind waiting, milord.”

Good gods. He quickly puts that aside for later, focusing in on the way Gerald stands almost awkwardly in his grasp. “Can you walk?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Go stand at the foot of the bed. I’m going to give us some light.”

He doesn’t watch to see if Gerald complies, turning away purposefully to kindle a spark for the lamps and pull the curtains closed. It’s even more intimate with the lights on, the room seeming to grow closer and quieter with shadows flickering in the corners. It’s better now that he can see, pausing to appreciate the dark flush steadily creeping down the side of Gerald’s neck as he stands facing the room with his back to Harper’s big, unnecessary bed. His hands clench and unclench at his sides as Harper moves the chair from the desk, sets it down in front of him.

He sits down, and the shadows seem to pull in closer still. 

“Take your clothes off.”

Gerald doesn’t protest or hesitate for more than the barest of seconds, though Harper can almost feel it when his pulse picks up, a quick intake of breath in the quiet before he obediently begins to comply. Harper doesn’t give him any more direction, content to sit back and see what he’ll do, amused and somewhat smug when Gerald does as anticipated and takes the time to neatly fold each piece of clothing rather than toss it aside. He seems reticent to turn his back on Harper and he does so only for a second at a time, stacking piece after piece of his uniform at the corner of Harper’s bed until he’s bare to the skin, coming back to stand, awkward but eager, in place just a few feet from his chair.

He doesn’t look like Cort.

It’s not the thought he wants to have, but it comes unbidden anyway. Even with the dark hair, the blue eyes, that is where the resemblance stops. Gerald isn’t tall enough, broad enough, muscular enough, though his body is pleasantly lean and defined. His cock bobs against a flat stomach, jutting up from the narrow vee of his hips, flushed angry red and looking hard to bursting. Gerald’s instinct is to touch it, one he quells visibly, movement aborted into another flexing of his hands at his sides as he sways faintly under Harper’s gaze.

Harper smiles, wills the weight of his approval through the words. “Very good.”

Gerald’s voice is tight, breathy but certain. “Yes, your lordship.”

“Are you going to keep being good for me?”

_ “Yes, _your lordship.”

“Very well. Two things, then.”

“Anything, milord.”

He does not entirely believe that, but it makes the request easier. Maybe this time he’ll make it stick. “Number one, no more of that - of that _ lordship, milord _ rubbish_. _ Call me Harper, or call me sir. Am I understood?”

“Yes sir.”

_ Of course. _ Harper shakes his head. “Very well, number two. For the purposes of tonight, if you want to stop, say stop. You may protest in any other way you like, and I will feel free to ignore it. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir. If I want to stop, I say ‘stop’, sir.”

“Good boy. Now... I want to watch you touch yourself.”

Gerald moves to comply so fast it’s almost comical. He reaches to take himself in hand and hisses, hips bucking forward reflexively in a way that makes Harper think his cock must ache, hard and untouched for so long. There’s a small sound he makes, this unconscious, throaty thing almost but not quite a groan that makes Harper want to palm himself through his trousers. He doesn’t though, settling back to watch.

The room stays quiet, just the sound of the occasional pop and splutter from one of the lamps that intersperses Gerald’s heavy, steady breathing as his hand rhythmically jerks his cock. It shines faintly, the slick of precum catching the light where it beads at the head.

He counts the seconds, the minutes; it doesn’t take long until Gerald is working his hips unsteadily forward, widening his stance as his movements turn choppy.

“Sir- may I come?”

“No.”

A shudder ripples visibly through Gerald’s body, and he squeezes his eyes closed as though that is the answer he expected to hear. His hand stills.

“Did I say you could stop?”

Gerald’s eyes fly open. Harper smiles. Gerald’s hand begins to move again, his lower lip between his teeth.

The second time, it doesn’t take half as long. “Sir- may I come?”

“No.”

Gerald’s disappointment is palpable, as is his struggle to obey, to hold back. But he doesn’t stop his hand. “Please sir, I-”

Harper doesn’t hear the rest of what he says, his stomach turning oddly at the plea. It feels so familiar and he doesn’t want to think about why - _ he knows why _ \- can’t allow thoughts of other things, other times, other people, to crowd into this space. It’ll distract him and- well, Gerald deserves more than that. All the same, it dampens some of his desire and his voice comes out cool and clear.

“I don’t want to hear you begging. All I want from you is _ yes sir _and your hand on your fucking cock.”

Gerald _ whimpers, _ the sound catching in his teeth like fabric on splinters. It is _ incredible_. “Yes sir.”

It’s an unfamiliar rush, this feeling of power. Not that he never feels powerful, not exactly, it just- it’s different. Maybe he needs this. He does distantly wonder what Vigo would say (and he doesn’t even let himself think that other name, that other - _ Cort, Cort, Cort - dammit), _ if he would surmise that this is all just one twisted coping mechanism for stress, for pain, for the way he never seems to get much in his life under control. Sometimes not even himself.

No, _ clearly _ not himself. If he had any talent with that at all, he wouldn’t be here right now. And yet he is, and so is Gerald, trying so hard to do as he says, to be obedient, to be _ good_, torturing his prick with the repeated scrape of his palm over skin that by now must surely burn with overstimulation, just because Harper’s told him to.

His strokes have slowed, turning lighter, longer, avoiding the weeping head of his cock to focus on the shaft. Still, he steadily manages to work himself closer and closer to the edge; Harper is beginning to pick up on his tells, the quiver of his taut abdomen, a sudden flex in his thighs, an aborted thrust forward into nothing.

“Sir-”

“No. Continue.”

“Yes sir.”

He gets up, eventually, comes to circle around Gerald where he stands, shaking and straining at the foot of Harper’s bed. Gerald looks up at him warily, pleadingly, but manages to keep his mouth shut, closing lips around the way he would clearly beg for relief if he was allowed. His skin shines faintly in the lamplight, pale turning a burnished kind of gold, sweat dampening the hair at his temples. Harper guides a wild lock behind his ear without touching his skin; Gerald shivers, his body dipping like his unlocked knees will go out from under him. He manages to keep his feet and Harper smiles, hums his approval quietly just beyond Gerald’s ear.

“That’s beautiful. Are you enjoying yourself?”

Gerald grinds out another _ yes sir _ that sounds very much like a _ hell no_, and Harper bites back the urge to laugh, circling all the way around out of Gerald’s line of sight to awkwardly adjust his cock in his pants. It is alluring, arousing, watching the wiry muscles move in Gerald’s arm, the dimples in his lower back deepen, the muscle of his flank flex and quiver with effort every time his hips jerk forward. Still, there have to be limits. He hasn’t planned any of this, flying by the seat of his pants on a stiff breeze of his own usually terrible ideas, and he isn’t prepared to take this much further than it’s gone already.

Not that Gerald has to know that. He suspects, though, that Gerald will be grateful by the time Harper allows him to crawl out of here.

Harper opens a drawer at his bedside, riffles through and lets it click shut, not bothering to stifle the sounds. Gerald turns his head as though to look and catches himself at the last moment, jumping visibly when Harper, quiet again, speaks just behind his ear. “Looking for something?”

“Ah! No sir.”

“I didn’t think so. You’ve been so good, I’d hate for you to spoil your reward.”

“Reward, sir?” He sounds so hopeful. Harper feels so _ mean_. It’s _ fantastic. _

“Soon. I want you to do something for me, first.”

_ “Anything _ sir.” 

It’s a bit more believable, that time. He purses his lips and blows a cool stream of air against the side of Gerald’s throat, watching as it raises goosebumps across his skin. It’s tempting, the urge to touch him, but- no.

“I want you to stroke yourself four more times, and then stop. There’s a good boy, base to tip, nice and slow. Now just hold yourself, don’t move.”

Somehow that seems almost as difficult as ordering him to continue to touch himself, the muscles in his chest and back flexing like all he wants to do is thrust forward into his hand again to chase another orgasm, rolling that rock up a never ending hill. Gerald doesn’t though, somehow, exerting much more self-control than Harper thinks that he himself has ever had, standing still and shuddering in wait of further orders.

“I want you to take your free hand, and touch your nipple. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes sir.”

“Do it now. Leave your other hand where it is.”

Gerald follows his command to the letter, lifting his hand dutifully to his chest, where he pauses. Harper nods, watching over one shoulder. “That’s perfect, you’re doing _ so _well. Pinch your nipple for me. Harder. Be my hands. Don’t let go of your cock.”

Whether he’s naturally sensitive or if being forced to torture himself has dragged him nearly to the edge, it’s a struggle. He tries to hide it, complying as thoroughly as he is able, but he’s too slow, too gentle, and Harper pushes, demanding more and more until Gerald’s grimacing face is a mask of frustrated pain and his cock leaks over his grasping fingers, just as hard now as when they’d begun.

“So lovely. Now switch.”

He doesn’t relent until Gerald is almost in tears, until he slips up and begs, pleading to be allowed to bring himself over.

Harper sighs like the sin is grievous, circling around to look down at Gerald with feigned disappointment. Gerald looks wrecked, sweat-soaked and shivering, breath coming in hard gasps that shudder on the way in, but he meets Harper’s gaze nonetheless, chin canted down to look up at him through a veil of dark lashes.

Ridiculous, this boy. “Was that difficult?”

“Yes sir.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“No sir!” It’s an easy out but he doesn’t take it, alarm flashing briefly over his features until Harper nods easily like the question was nothing and continues on.

“You’ve been so good for me. Do you still want your reward?”

“Oh _ yes _ sir, _ please _ sir, I-” he cuts himself off, hearing the pleading tone in his voice too late. Harper can barely bring himself to issue a reprimand, especially when the ‘reward’ is really nothing of the kind, but rather than break the mood he narrows his eyes, puts steel into his voice.

“What did I_ just _ say about that.”

“No begging sir, I’m sorry sir. I’m sorry.”

“You’d better be. One more fuck up and I’ll _ make _ you sorry. Am I understood?”

“Yes sir!” 

Gods, it’s- he doesn’t even know. The threat just seems to take Gerald even higher, his already darkened eyes going a little bit glassy, pupils blown wide until the blue looks entirely black. Harper desperately wants to touch him, has to fight the sudden urge to lift a hand and cup his cheek, the tenderness and arousal in the same moment a strange and unfamiliar mix. He doesn’t though, just rakes his gaze down Gerald’s body to where his cock still twitches in his hand, and nods.

“Are you ready for your reward?”

“Yes sir.”

“Open your fingers. Just rest your cock on your palm.”

Gerald does as he says, eyes rapt on Harper’s fingers when he pulls the bottle from his pocket and twists the lid. It’s warmed to his body, he can feel the lingering heat in the glass, but Gerald still hisses when he pours a thin stream of oil over his cock and into his hand.

“Stroke yourself.”

Gerald does and immediately goes rigid, and Harper wonders if he’s pushed too far. It’s not his intention to _ force _ Gerald to disobey him, especially not when his obedience and submission seem so freely offered and rewarding, but he quickly masters himself, clamping down on the base of his cock and taking one deep, shaking breath after another until his body is back under control.

Harper smiles his reassurance, and retakes his seat.

This is not going to last much longer but he draws it out as far as he can, winding the wire tighter and tighter. He directs Gerald’s movements, having him speed or slow, instructing him to cup his balls, touch his nipples, to fuck long and rough into his hand. Gerald has to stop altogether just once, hands flung to his sides like they’ve been burned, clenched to fists. It only takes a mild threat to get him going again, though he can’t look at himself or at Harper, can’t open his eyes, cheeks hollowed and brow creased with the effort of staying in control, haggard and trembling.

He’s pushed far enough.

“You’ve been so good for me tonight, so lovely. Would you like to make yourself come?”

_ “Yes sir.” _ He does not say please, but then again he doesn’t have to.

“I want you to give me ten more strokes. Can you do that for me?”

Gerald’s voice breaks when he agrees, but he agrees, planting his feet resolutely as though preparing for a fight.

“Count them out.”

“Ten. Nine. Eight. S-seven-”

By five he’s shaking, the hand not wrapped around his cock digging nails hard into his upper thigh. Harper isn’t sure he’ll make it past three, the way his voice has turned rough and almost tearful, raw and gravelled. He does though, says the words, even if it sounds like he’s having to parse the entire alphabet for the letters to pull together as he does so. Harper finds himself lavish in praise, encouraging in a way that he isn’t sure makes much sense, as strung together as Gerald’s counting, but it hardly matters.

“-so good for me, so good, almost there, almost-”

_ “Two.” _

“Come for me, gorgeous, come for me now.”

Gerald does not, in fact, actually make it to one. Or at least he doesn’t say it. The noise that tears itself out of him is animal, pleasure and pain, longing, relief and desire all rolled together into something heavy enough to bear him to the floor, on his knees again as the peak overtakes him. He strokes himself through it, unselfconsciously streaking his stomach, his thighs, the floor with spend until it hurts more than it feels good, slowing to a stop in the midst of his mess to take deep sobbing breaths, trying to overfill his lungs.

Harper elects not to mention the counting.

Gerald’s hand is still around his cock when Harper pulls a blanket off the bed and wraps it around his shivering shoulders, gently pulling his wrist away to get him to turn loose of himself. Gerald shudders and gulps, eyes wild and unfocused until they find Harper’s face, settling there as he lets himself be held.

_ Now _ touch seems appropriate, part of all of this but… different. Necessary. There’s no guilt that attaches itself to it, just letting Gerald shiver the adrenaline out in his arms as they curl up together on the floor. It isn’t the most comfortable spot. Gerald is sweaty and the place reeks of sex, and he’s fairly certain there is come drying on the knee of his pants, but it really doesn’t matter. He presses his lips to the back of Gerald’s neck, to his temple and cheek and shoulder and tells him that he’s beautiful. That he’s safe. That Harper isn’t going anywhere.

Eventually Gerald laughs.

“You can stop now, your lordship.”

“What did I say.”

“Sorry. Harper. I’m good. Better than.”

“Are you sure? That was-” Gods, there is come all over the floor. “A lot.”

It makes both of them laugh, exhausted and helpless. Harper realizes he is _ tired, _weary down to the bone, though he isn’t quite sure he deserves to be. He’s still aroused but distantly now, manageable enough that he’ll take care of it himself before bed and hopefully fall into the kind of dreamless sleep that snuffs him out like a candle and keeps him under for hours. The laughter fades and Gerald hums contentedly, shifting over and out of his arms to sit up on his own.

Harper lets him go. “Was that alright?”

“I’ll say. Ought not’ve sprung it on you with no warning probably, but-” he shifts, gives Harper that crooked smile even while his face goes pink. “Figured you’d be good at it.”

“Yes, well,” he says dryly, because he isn’t quite sure what else to say. He isn’t really sure he’s good at anything, but this seemed… fine. “I live to serve.”

“Fairly sure that’s my line, sir, though- I would have liked to do a little something for you. I still can if you-”

“No, no thank you, it’s fine.” That seems to cut Gerald off a bit abruptly, though the expression on his pleasant face is mild. “Maybe next time.”

“...next time, sir?”

Harper smiles, lifts one shoulder in a shrug, and Gerald nods and wisely says nothing, seeming to not want to push his luck.

Eventually the floor gets rather hard under his ass, and he gets up to find Gerald something to towel off with, watching quietly as he slowly puts his clothes back on. Other than the damp muss of his hair he looks just as pressed and put together as he had hours ago; the transformation is impressive, and leaves Harper feeling faintly unsettled.

Watching Gerald stoically clean congealing come off the floor does help a bit though.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Of course I do sir, it’s my job, and a pleasure to serve.”

Harper rolls his eyes. “You’re also welcome to stay, if that’s something you need.”

Gerald pauses. “Is… that what you’d like?”

“It’s not for _ me.” _

Gerald nods, seemingly considering. “Then, if it’s all the same to you sir, I’d just as soon take my leave. I hear things, doing what I do, and I know your situation is… complicated. Wouldn’t want no trouble on account of... well.” He smiles that cheeky, lopsided little smile and gestures around the room. “Wouldn’t want him upset with me, neither. A bit scary, that.”

“Fair enough.”

“That being said, I wouldn’t hate it if there _ was _ a next time. Just saying.”

Harper laughs. “I’ll see what I can do.”


End file.
